Amare Discordiae
by Manda Louise
Summary: The perfect arena, an eager audience, 59 years of blood and violence. The stage for the 60th Hunger Games is assembled, and all that's left is a cast to fill it with. An open SYOT.
1. The Silver-Tongued Queen

There were many names for Centalia Viper, each more pleasing to the ear than the last.

The iron woman.

The silver-tongued queen.

A snake in the grass.

With each label gained the young lady grew more ambitious, more determined to rise higher into the world of political intrigue, cruelty, and decent. Eventually this paid off; she achieved her goal, through sheer willpower and no small amount of deception and lies. One last title, the best you could have.

Gamemaker for the 60th Hungergames.

As Centalia leafed through the documents on her desk (some criticized her for her lack of organizational skills - those unfortunates were never heard from again) she allowed herself a victory moment of relaxation. She had earned this office, this desk, and these papers. Everything in this room was hers due to her work and her work alone.

But after this brief feeling of accomplishment passed, she focused her mind on the more important things. The previous gamemaker, a hulking brute of a man Centalia herself had only met once and never cared to again, had lasted three years. His games were bloody, his arenas small to maximize bloodshed and minimize brainwork, and his process entirely too uninteresting for her own tastes. Eventually the Capitol had grown restless, as his games were short and repetitive, and she had jumped on the chance. Convincing President Snow that he needed replacing (and that she herself was the perfect candidate for the job) had only taken a few careful words in the right people's ears.

She scoffed as she recalled those past games; she knew she could do better. And now she would be able to. That chance was within reach.

The games would be brutal, of course - the people of the capitol loved that, and so did Centalia - but they would also be so much more. The arena she had lovingly crafted was specifically engineered to force both fighting skills _and_ some amount of intelligence. Altogether she was sure these games would be the perfect balance of bloody and interesting.

At the very least it would give her something to look forward to.

* * *

After being convinced to do this I figured I might as well go all the way. Please submit your tributes to me via PM using the application form on my profile page. Currently the only reserved spots are for the district three male and the district twelve female.

Have fun, and may the odds be ever in your favor.


	2. The Big Bad Wolf

Every person in the gamemaker's building heard the scream.

They all knew who the yell belonged to – goodness knew they'd heard it enough in the past few months. As Centalia slammed her office door and stormed down the hall people parted for her, instinct and past experience telling them she was in absolutely no mood to be messed with.

Finally the woman stopped, having reached her current destination. She took a few moments to smooth down the wrinkles in her already impeccably clean dress, and to capture a few flyaway platinum blonde hairs, securing them back into the elegant knot coiled on top of her head.

The assembled crowd, drawn by her angry stomping, scurried in all directions as they took in her expression.

Taking this as a hint, she hurriedly ironed out her facial feature, along with everything else. It wouldn't do to march into the President's office looking like she wanted to commit homicide, even if that may be approximately what she was currently feeling. When she was sufficiently calm, she pulled open the heavy wooden door and stepped into the room beyond.

In the center of the office was a man, the very same one who had summoned her here in the middle of the busiest time of her life. The one who thought it was perfectly reasonable to expect her to drop whatever she was doing just to come round and chat. The one who was now smiling at her condescendingly, so much so that she wanted to slap him across the- no, she thought to herself, stop, this is also a man with the power to crush you like the piteous bug you are. With a little effort, she managed to keep up a relatively endearing expression.

"You wanted to see me, President Snow?" Remember, she drilled into her head, calm.

"Ah, Centalia, the woman of the hour," he drawled, smiling just a bit too indulgently to be genuine. "So you did receive my little message. I hope you appreciated the humor – I know I found it hilarious."

When she had arrived that morning there had been a viper on her desk, cut in half and bleeding everywhere. "It was hilarious," she forced out, irritated. The stupid thing had bled on one of her notesheets, not that he cared.

She herself had never liked the president, had always mistrusted his smiles and roses and generally patronizing air. She prided herself on being able to see the politicians in the room, and it was always clear Snow was a master.

Never trust anyone better than you at your own game.

With a lazy flick of Snow's fingers the office lit up, walls and ceiling turned to screens showcasing scenes from what looked like the previous games.

"I trust you know what these are," he began, absently watching a brutal twelve year old stab her district partner in the thigh, then the sides, then the neck, before finally being brought down by a thriving mob of older careers. "If you don't, I'll enlighten you. These are the twenty top viewed scenes of Bucephalus Gladus' games. The crème dela crème, if you think of it like that. Which you should, of course, because I'm telling you to."

He let the montage run behind him, turning back around to stare at her. "What I mean to say, of course, it that this is what the People of the Capitol like to see. Blood, gore, death. The lot. And, in the same vein, this is what the Districts hate the most. It turns them to cows in fear of slaughter, you see? Two birds in one stone." The president's lip curled up in disgust. "And I do so hate birds." He shook his head, focusing again on Centalia's eyes.

"But that's not all; did you see those deaths? The people of the Capitol want to find killers to route for, and then they want to watch those killers burn." He stared thoughtfully at the remote. "Bucephalus was a brute of a man. He and his namesake were much the same, in the end, although perhaps the original horse was smarter. As such, his games were tailored to his interests. Short, bloody, all brawn and very little brain. But you – you, I'll have to see about. You're more of a thinker, I can tell, and that can be dangerous. These games were what the people wanted, you understand. I'd suggest you think on that." He leaned back in his chair and waved her out the door, signaling the end of the conversation.

As she strode back the way she came, Snow's parting phrase rung in her ears – she heard the warning in the words, the subtle reminder that the world would not accept _good enough_. If she wanted to be remembered, if she wanted to be alive, she had to be perfect.

After she came to her own office and sat behind her desk, Centalia reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out a stack of files filled with pictures and notes. A smirk spread across her face as she read the most recent words, a less patient and more deadly sneer than even Snow's had been.

The tab of the folder was marked in thick black ink, the title glaring out from the page. 'The 60th' it read, and a smile returned.

Inside were thousands and thousands of notes, multiple years of research just for this one chance. Every single note told a story, a literal fairy tale, arranged into stacks by the most useful, the most relevant.

And then, in another clearly marked little folder (muttations, this one said) was a sticky note, 'Little Red Riding Hood' scrawled on the side in quick, looping hand.

There it was. These games were to be her very own spin on the classics, a chance to rewrite the stories that had plagued her for so long. The mutts had come along well in the end – powerful legs and sharply curved snouts, covered in a thick layer of skin and fur.

Centalia glanced at the folder, a sadistic grin growing on her face. With one hand she lazily traced the mutts outline, closing her eyes for a brief second to imagine it in the middle of a pile of bodies, muzzle running red in a river of blood, eyes glowing bright in the darkness as it stalked its unsuspecting prey. Oh yes, she thought, that would do so _very_ nicely.

"After all," she muttered quietly to herself, "who's not afraid of the big bad wolf?"

* * *

**So that was fun! Finishing up the prologue - if all goes well the actually interesting stuff can start soon. I'm still looking for a few more tributes, which I need to have before the real work can begin. This list will be updated as I get them, but I still need:**

**-males from D10, and D12**

**Also, if you didn't catch it this arena is going to be based on fairy tales. Should be fun, if I can pull it off! Drop me a review telling me what you think.**


End file.
